


Can a Demon Sit on Pews?

by RiYuYami



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: An excuse for dorks being dorks and a minor history lesson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiYuYami/pseuds/RiYuYami
Summary: A trip to Paris to remember a friend from the past leads to an angel and a demon sitting in a cathedral for a chat.And it takes an awkward plan to get said demon inside of the holy building.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Can a Demon Sit on Pews?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot of a silly idea that came to mind the other day while I was at work.
> 
> This clearly takes place long before the recent fire at Notre Dame, this is more of just a random little trip during the 90s. 
> 
> And yes, I tagged it with ship stuff, obvious, but let’s face it, anything I write with Aziraphale and Crowley is always gonna be Ineffable Husbands, even if it’s just implied or hinted at.
> 
> On with the fic!

“Paris? Really? Got another desire for the best crepes in the world, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, despite the obvious jab at a previous action from well over two hundred years ago, turning around to face the approaching demon. His smile faltered into an annoyed pout when Crowley waved his hand, a few meters away a souvenir stand operator suddenly dashed off when an officer just so happened to notice that his items might be counterfeit.

“Now, my dear, was that really necessary?” He asked as he crossed his arms, getting a smirk in return.

“No, but it was funny. So, what are you doing here?”

“I really should be asking you that question, how did you know I was here?”

Crowley gave a shrug. “I always know, and don’t avoid my question.

With a turn, Aziraphale gestured to the large structure he had been strolling towards before he heard the all-too-familiar voice of his oldest companion. Crowley looked at it and pulled a face. “A church.”

“Ah,” The angel smiled, “not just any old church! Notre Dame! One of the most famous cathedrals in all the world!”

“I like the one in Prague better, you know, the one that looks spooky.” Crowley spoke. “Or that one in Cologne, the one that claims to have the bones of the Three Kings and they’re covered in gold and gems.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You’ve never even been inside, you silly fool.”

“Been in one church in all my life, and it was to save you from a stupid death.” The demon replied, missing the look that crossed Aziraphale’s face. That moment was… rather important to the Principality, it was when feelings were made certain for him. He glanced at Crowley, who seemed to be rambling now, having corrected himself.

He had been in more churches, apparently, but they were ones where devil worshippers or demons had found ways to ruin the holiness of them. And nine out of ten, Crowley only ended up there cause some idiot summoned him while drunk.

“Well, while you wander down memory lane of foolish teenagers and dark ‘warlocks’, I shall wander into the cathedral.” Aziraphale spoke up as he turned on his heel, making his way over before he felt long fingers gently grab his shoulder. “Yes, dear?”

“Can I come with?”

This made the angel pause and give the taller man a funny look. “Crowley, did your melted shoes and me anointing your feet for hours to help heal them not make it obvious that you cannot walk on consecrated ground?”

“I think me howling in pain from having to peel my melted shoes and damaged socks off was the clue, or me making a total arse outta myself in front of stupid nazis as I practically tap danced to keep from standing still for too long, but I’d still like to see it. Been so much buzz about it for centuries, and there were all those films that came out about it, even one recently, been wanting to see this place for myself. Plus, it’s a gothic cathedral, that’s got to account for something, right? You know, what with it being demonic looking and the like.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale started, but the demon walked past him towards the entrance. “My dear, I don’t think that’s a very good idea-!”

One foot was on the first step up to the door and Crowley buckled, dropping with a sharp hiss, falling on his back as he clutched his foot. Aziraphale was quick to come to his side, ignoring the looks of Parisians and tourists nearby. “Oh gracious, are you alright?! Did you not realize that this is still Catholic, despite how spooky it looks? It’s going to be a bit worse than a little church in London, or some random place you ended up in during a summoning.”

“No shit, angel!” Crowley snapped at him, sitting up and removing his boot and sock, looking at his foot. Aside from the scales, the only thing different about it to a normal person would be what looked like a red sunburn, but to Aziraphale, it was clearly a burn of holy grounds. It had only been a moment for the burn to take place, not like he had stood there for a while, so Aziraphale was able to remove the pain with a snap of his fingers.

“Crowley, maybe you can wander around while I’m inside. I know there is a lovely bakery not too far, and the Seines is nice to drop things on people while on one of the bridges, I’d rather you not suffer.”

“Nope.” He shook his head, putting on his sock. “I’m too curious, it’s in my nature.”

“That it is.” Aziraphale sighed as he looked about, waiting for the man to finish getting his boot back on and to regain his pride from that little display. He spotted a family where a little boy was saying something to his father, who then crouched down, the child climbed up his back. Aziraphale grinned at this before turning his attention to his friend. “My dear, I just had the most brilliant idea for you to get inside!”

“You’ll go inside and draw a satanic symbol on the floor, thus corrupting it for a bit?”

“No! I mean…” He moved, turning his back to Crowley as he rested his knees on the ground. “Climb on my back.”

Crowley just looked at him. “What?”

The angel sighed loudly. “Get on my back, I will hold onto you, and this way you can go inside with no problems.”

“Can you even lift me?”

“Crowley, I am a Principality, I am much stronger than I look. Besides, how many times have I carried your drunken and or sleeping self around while you were practically dead weight?”

The snake demon shrugged. “Alright, but if you complain of back aches later, that’s your fault.” He got up and moved to get on the other’s back, before nearly yelping when Aziraphale suddenly stood up, making Crowley wrap his legs around the other’s stomach, his arms around his shoulders. “Damn, angel! It’s like I weigh nothing to you!”

“I’ve carried stacks of books that weigh more than you ever will, my dear.” Aziraphale said with a bit of smug pride as he walked up the stairs, ignoring more stares from people as he opened the doors.

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit behind his shades as he looked inside. He could sense the Godly blessings of this place, felt a bit like when one touched an old television screen when it was on static, a light tingle under the skin. The inside was massive, beautiful, and made Crowley feel so tiny. He was in a house of God, and it felt wrong, yet… with Aziraphale here, giving him permission, it felt a bit right.

He wasn’t here to cause trouble, his natural curiosity, which got him into the whole demon shtick anyway, was too strong for him to ignore being in here. He hadn’t paid too much attention when he was in that church in 1941, he was too worried about Aziraphale, and the other ones he had wandered into (or were summoned into) were damaged.

Here he was now though, inside of one of Europe’s most famous gothic buildings, kept alive by a writer who didn’t want to see it go to waste in the 1800s.

The demon paused and looked at Aziraphale, who seemed lost in his own thoughts as he walked about, seeming to let Crowley look around from his perch. “Do you wanna take a seat?” He asked the blond, who looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you sit on a pew?”

“We’ll find out.”

Aziraphale made his way over to one near the front, a woman stopped him for a moment, asking in English, an American tourist, if his friend was alright.

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiled, “he’s alright, he stepped wrong outside and now his foot hurts, but he didn’t want to wait for it to stop aching.” Crowley nearly groaned out loud at the excuse the other had come up with to explain why he was carrying a grown man on his back.

She seemed to believe the lie, damn curious humans, and Aziraphale stepped away to allow Crowley to take a seat. It wasn’t easy, Crowley didn’t dare put his feet on the ground, it would be ten times worse than it was outside, so he had to step on the pew.

There was no burn, just more of the television static, so it was safe. Who the hell would bless a seat anyway? He sat down, cross-legged, and the angel sat down next to him with a small, content sigh as he looked up at the sight before them. Clearly the back of the cathedral was where the holy men in charge would speak to the masses, under beautiful stain glass, and symbols of God, The Son, and The Holy Ghost.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s knee, turning to him to whisper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, I’ll give your lot’s fan club that. Probably the first demon in history to really appreciate what humans can do when building homes for God. Wonder if She has a favorite somewhere in the world.”

“Lots of them, actually.” Aziraphale replied. “So many have a little something that just makes Her love them more than some others. I don’t blame Her, I can be the same with my books, and I know you are with your plants.”

“You know nothing about me and my plants.” Crowley grumbled, his eyes drifting about. “Speaking of books. We’re here because of Victor, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale blinked, his cheeks suddenly a bit pink from embarrassment. “Yes, uhh… I do try to stop by once a year, to pay my respects.”

“Why not at his grave?”

“Oh, I do, but as an angel, I think the most respect can be paid towards the building he saved from neglect.”

Crowley couldn’t argue with that, so he nodded. Aziraphale had been good friends with the write Victor Hugo, and even Crowley couldn’t deny that he had read through a few of his books, even the ones that could very well be mistaken for bricks. He was rather shocked at how dark _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ was as a book, young girls being preyed on by creepy older men, a deformed human being treated as a mistake and a monster, a holy man who was doing things that demons were known to influence, dark stuff.

When Victor had died, he remember Aziraphale had spent the day in his shop, just reading away at one of the man’s works. He did go to the funeral, Crowley did not. He had gone back to sleep, seeing as it had been the 1800s and Crowley spent most of it asleep, outside of a few rare times where he couldn’t sleep and pestered humans and Aziraphale.

He had been awake the day the author died, and he just sat with his angel as he quietly mourned in his own way. Aziraphale could be emotional when he wanted to be, but sometimes his more obvious expression of grief was being silent and reading with a frown on his face, Crowley knew his friend all too well. He remembered taking Aziraphale out for dinner that evening, his treat, and they spent the night in the bookshop, toasting wine to humans who have changed things for the better, even in little ways.

“He was an excellent poet and artist.” Crowley spoke softly, hearing Aziraphale hum in agreement. “And apparently a hell of a sex fiend, so many mistresses. His little black book is more infamous than anything he’s ever written.” He deserved the punch to the arm from the angel, but he still got a laugh from Aziraphale.

“Yes, well, he was still a respectful man. He stood for what he believed in, for freedom and liberty, to be one’s self, to stand up for what was right.” Aziraphale replied as he looked at Crowley, there seemed to be something on the man’s face, like there was a weight to his words, a personal one.

“Yeah.” The demon put his hand over the one that rested on his knee. “‘To love is to act’. That was his, seems like a good idea, even if the word love is… meh.” There wasn’t any venom or hate in Crowley’s voice at the last part of his statement, and Aziraphale didn’t comment on it.

“Right, my dear. You are correct, that is his.” A smile came to Aziraphale. “When we’re done here, would you like to go out for lunch? My treat, afterwards, we can do to the Louver. I’d love for you to tell me more silly stories about your old friend, Leonardo.”

“Sounds good. Besides, this place is making my limbs feel numb, and that probably means it’s time to go.”

The angel let the demon get on his back once more, walking out as they discussed where would the best place for lunch was and if Crowley should be allowed to make loud, lewd jokes about naked people in religious art when they got to the museum.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was just an excuse to write the hilarious mental image of Aziraphale taking Crowley into a church on his back, but I did a bit of research of Victor Hugo and found the quote and damnit, I had to throw that in.
> 
> (Also, yes, he was a hell of a womanizer and every brothel in Paris closed for his funeral cause a lot of ladies attended).
> 
> Thanks for reading, please comment and kudos!


End file.
